


Man With A Sword

by waelsele



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waelsele/pseuds/waelsele
Summary: “You are my mother; you should not be lying to me under any circumstances.” He must have been spending time with Ned once more. Lyanna sighed.Wolves raise dragons. Dragons raise chaos. Chaos begs for order. Order settles the world. In the dawning winter when the last man-made fires die many a wicked arm glints with thirst for violence and too few are those who seek succor.Lyanna Stark has a plan. She hopes her son goes along because she has no desire to roam the snowy flats despairing at never-ending thralldom.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 24
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

_"Someday, when all your civilization and science are likewise swept away, your kind will pray for a man with a sword."_

— Robert E. Howard

“You will not be attending the tourney,” Brandon barked, imposing form towering over her. Lyanna stared into her brother’s eyes, lips curling into a slow smile. Colour crept into the man’s face at her unrelenting gaze. She lifted her goblet to her lips and took a languid sip of the spiced wine.

Lyanna lowered her cup. “Father,” she said, without looking to Lord Stark who still sat into his chair, drinking horn in hand. “I wish to attend the tourney.” She cocked her head to the side, not for one moment softening her expression. “I believe you’ve the call on such matters.”

“And so you shall attend.” Somewhat heavily, Rickard Stark climbed to his feet. “Brandon, keep her path not; Lyanna is to retire and we may speak.” But Brandon did not look as though he might see the wisdom in his sire’s words and snapped his head towards the man with an incredulous look.

Two paws slammed against the table, wood groaning in protest of such treatment. “How can you allow it? Is it not shame enough that she lives in our home, fallen as she is? You would parade her before the lords and ladies of the realm?” He glowered, the fire in his eyes shining with pent up rage. “I’ve two daughters to consider.” Lyanna grabbed hold of her father’s hand before he might speak.

“Is that what your goodwife has been whispering about?” She sneered at her brother, her cup finally finding its spot upon the table. “You needn’t fear; a broken maidenhead is not catching. They are not like to breed just because we should travel in the same wheelhouse.” In all honesty she had no wish to attend the tourney. She was past the age where such gatherings were thrilling. Would that they offered the distraction they once did. Alas, such was not her fortune. “I daresay you should know all about it.”

“If I were lord of the house, I would see you out on your ear, you little whore,” Brandon bit out, truly incensed. “I know not what witchcraft binds your will to hers, lord father, that you have allowed her and her brat to remain in your home, but I will not expose my family to such shame. I abide by your decision but barely.” Then to her he said, “If you dare step near the wheelhouse, I will chain you behind it and have you dragged all the way to White Harbor.” 

Once more she stopped their sire from offering any words. Standing to her own feet, she leaned in, bracing her weight upon her arms, palms curling around the edge of the table. “Are you not the most righteous knight to ever have graced the lands of the North?” she questioned gently. “Such care for your daughters’ reputation. Well, they are yours after all. I suppose you owe them as much. A pity such notions do not extend to Lady Barbrey or cook’s daughter. Does your wife know about them, I wonder?”

“Be silent!” Typical Brandon; he could speak ill of her to his heart’s content but as soon as she said a word back, she was a villain. Or rather she was always a villain, but might be more vile than usual in such circumstances. “You’ve no right to stand in judgement of me.”

“Might be not,” Lyanna shrugged, “but you’ve no right to go against your lord. And yet here you are, pissing into wind like the clever boy you are. Dearest brother, you might as well accept it. I shall please you by riding my mare, if I must.” She would not be going, she decided. Much as riling Brandon would amuse her, their departure offered her ample opportunity to spend time with her son and that she would prefer to any show of clashing lances. All the better if they could ride about without Brandon’s disapproving glower. In the meantime, however, she remained perfectly pleased to seat herself back down, returning her attention to the board. “I believe, sire, ‘tis your move.”

“You will not ignore me.” She almost rolled her eyes at that. “This discussion is not over.”

“As thought anyone could ignore you, the way you yell. Truly, Brandon, you will disappoint your lady greatly. A knight is the meekest men in the hall, might I remind you.” If anger were to have a sound, her brother’s guttural growl would fit admirably. Not turning a hair, she went on. “I tender you my apologies, brother mine, but I really would finish this game and return to my chambers.”

“Might be we ought to leave it for another time,” their father finally spoke. “The day has been long.” She nodded, striving to keep her expression from showing any disappointment. Brandon and his poor timing would cost her; she had finally managed to push her sire into a corner, after a great deal of strategising, and she could not see how breaking her concentration and returning later to the board would not result in loss.

Yet after having spoken to her brother of his duties, she could not very well refuse to fulfil hers. Once more she rose from the chair and smoothed a hand over her middle and down her skirts in a swift brush. “Very well, I shall take my leave now. A good night to you, lord father.” Turning to her brother, she offered him a sly smile. “Good manners dictate I wish the same to you.” Let him make of that what he wished.

Waiting for no answer, she stepped down from the dais and walked past Brandon hurriedly. He drew back as though her mere proximity might befoul him. It was good of him, she supposed, for she certainly had every wish of fouling his face if not his image. Carried on with steady steps, she found herself into the wide hallway, the mounted torches blinking in friendly manner as they spilled guiding light onto the walls and ground. Following the familiar path, she made her way not to her own chamber but to her son’s.

Lyanna knocked gently on the door, waiting for Jon’s voice to rise in invitation. He did not disappoint. Pushing the door open, she peeked within, smiling at her beloved child. “Why do you not yet sleep?” she asked, stepping over the threshold. A merry fire burned in the heart, lending its bronze glow to their surroundings. “A growing boy must rest.”

“I thought you were with Lord Stark.” It was no answer to her question, but Lyanna accepted the words along with the kiss he pressed to her upturned cheek. He had outstripped her a year past in height and was well on his way to outdoing her good-sisters as well. “What happened, mother?”

There were times when her conscience quite overwhelmed her with a sense of shame. He was such a caring boy and he suffered a great deal because of her. Pushing the thought away, Lyanna reached out and patted his arm gently. “Brandon had some matters to discuss with father. I would have been quite the burden had I stayed, so I chose to come to you, for I know I am not a burden here.”

“He insulted you again, did he not?” Her son bristled, causing a soothing sound to pass her lips. “He cannot keep getting away with it. I will–“ Taking him by the shoulder, Lyanna shook her head vigorously, telling Jon in no uncertain terms he was to do nothing. “Why won’t you let me protect you?” A lifetime ago she would have laughed to hear such a question. “I can win against him. I can.” She did not disbelieve him; Lyanna had seen Jon with a sword. Any man with sense would be wary of setting himself against her son in combat.

“I would not see you harmed for the world, my love. And certainly not so you might stop Brandon’s sharp tongue. He is my brother; what is between us need not concern you.” It was not as though she had no notion of why he carried himself so in her presence. “Now then, tell me you will give this no further thought and I will leave you to your rest.”

Yet it was too late. Having birthed and reared Jon, Lyanna prided herself on knowing the boy like the back of her hand. The mutinous expression he wore with such abandon hardened even as she crossed her arms over her chest, rapping her foot expectantly. That had worked very well when he was a boy of five. At five-and-ten, with him casting her to great disadvantage with his height, it did not seem to hold the sway it once had. “He is wrong to call you any of that. And if he cannot see it, I will make him.”

“’Twould only hardened his heart against us. Trust me on this, my love. Leave him to me.” Their eyes met and held. For his benefit, she curled her lips into a soft, loving smile. “Your only concern need be your own health. As long as you are well, I will have no complaints, no matter what the world says. Remember that.”

Jon’s lips pressed together as though some great distress were being visited upon him. But in the end, he relented with a short nod. “Very well, mother. I will leave matters as they are. However, I ask for something in return.” Curious, she hummed quietly in response. “I shall make no move against your kin and you tell me about my father.” She would well see what he thought that might work.

“Alas, my sweet boy; I have already promised to speak of him when you are a man. Barely one week away it is, too. You must wait, as agreed.” He protested, claiming such a short time would make no difference. “If it makes no difference,” she answered, “then why hasten. You have waited this long, a few more days shan’t hurt you.”

“Can you not give me this at least?” he insisted, reaching out to take hold of her arm. “If I am to endure all the slights, do II not deserve to know why I have been placed in such a position. I will not be that much difference at six-and-then than I am now. You say yourself, ‘tis only a few days.”

“I will discuss it upon your nameday and not one day before that,” she answered resolutely. “And if you truly wish to hear my reasoning then open your ears and hear; once you are a man, your grandfather has agreed that he will petition the king so you may be legitimised. “ He gasped. “And once that is done you and I will have a great many duties to attend to. You will understand then what you do not now.”

Jon turned away, taking a few steps towards the lancet. “Why would grandfather accede to your wishes in this?” Her son, it had to be said, was not a naturally born schemer. He was good enough for the broad strokes of any given situation, but the intricacies were often lost on him. She hoped it was age and not inclination that drove his lacking understanding. Seeing little sense in keeping him in the dark on that matter, however, she hastened to make her reply.

“You will be a Stark, but of the female line; Brandon’s children cannot fail to inherit Winterfell. Ned has two sons. Benjen, if he should choose to wed, will doubtlessly have a few brats of his own. There is no danger here for my father, or his precious heirs. Beyond that the name will offer your protection.” She smoothed her hands over her middle, fingers picking at the plaited girdle. “All shall make a great deal more sense as soon as you’ve the whole story. Ask no more and I shan’t be forced to speak falsely.”

“You are my mother; you should not be lying to me under any circumstances.” He must have been spending time with Ned once more. Lyanna sighed.

* * *

“You are not trying to convince me to stop, I hope.” She blinked up at Benjen, doubled over as she was. Her back protested the position but she held to it fast, hands yet plunged within the insides of the chest. “Because even if you were making such an attempt, I would not listen.” They were too far gone into the whole madness to stop at such a point. The dice had been thrown. The mummery had to be brought to satisfying end. And what an end there was in sight. Come hell or high waters, she told herself, her son would learn the truth.

“When have you ever listened,” Benjen groused, his pale face reminiscent of curdled milk. It was very clear to her he disapproved. “But if you would permit me to offer some counsel; Jon is a wonderful young man. Do not warp him because of your ambitions. Whatever you believe you know, put it aside. Father has already agreed to legitimise him. That has to be enough.”

“And yet it is not,” Lyanna answered, her gaze cooling. “I will thank you not to presume too great a power over me.” By the glare he cast her, she could tell he thought her much too forward as well. “You will keep silent, as you always have. Even if I should make a great scene, you will do as before. I know that because I know you.” She returned her attention to the treasure before her eyes. Her fingers stroked over the cool, hard scales. “Honour does not suit you as well as it does Ned.”

“And boldness suits you very little, sister. It looks better on the likes of Lady Ashara for she has the sweetness for it.” If he thought her put out by the remark, he was to be pitied. In fact, if she turned sharp and unapproachable with her boldness it was all to the better. It would give her more than enough reason to decline making for the tourney, it would please Brandon and it would see her safely out of the sight of too many eyes.

“You ought to run to her then, Benjen. We would not wish to deprive you of her sweetness, now would we?” For all that, she did think him right. Ashara was quite possibly the most pleasant great beauty of her acquaintance. The gods had been very generous with her. She was glad the woman loved Ned so and that they were happy together. She was equally glad Brandon had been shackled to a woman whose illusions he broke time and again, not only because Catelyn gave him grief over every single one of his mistakes but because she was equally aggrieved. Truly, in life one got what one so richly deserved. She nodded to the wisdom of her own thought and pulled her hand back from the chest and its precious contents. The lid slid shut, the lock was fastened and she covered it with a length of silk. “I see you are not yet off.”

“In all honestly, can you tell me you are doing this for him? Just lie; you are good at that. Tell his you loved his father a great deal.” But that she could not do. Lyanna had not loved Rhaegar; not in the way such wording might imply and certainly not a moment before she’d held her precious babe to bosom, the pains of childbed slowly fading from memory. “Tell him father opposed the match but you went ahead anyway thinking you might change his mind. Tell him the man is dead. End this. For the good of all.” Her brother’s tone had turned beseeching.

She wondered what he would do if he knew the truth. But she could not speak the words to him. He would not believe it anymore than the Prince had. He would not believe it until it was too late and the next was cast and drawn. How utterly devastating it had been then; how trivial it all seemed as she met her brother’s concerns with a scoff. “Why Benjen, I had no notion you cared so greatly. You must speak to father and have him send you to King’s Landing. The good of all may be attended to there.“

“You are a contrary obstinate creature,” he offered after a brief silence. “I cannot understand why you would go through with this. As his mother, you should not wish to cause him pain. Surely, even you understand there can be no good end to stirring up the past now.” Frankly she was surprised he did not fall to her feet and begged for her to listen. It was a good manner of surprise. If Benjen had grown a backbone she need worry no further for him. “I cannot believe father agreed to this.” She did not watch for his expression as he said the words, fearing he might look rather like Brandon just then.

“Father is wiser than the lot of us put together, as well you know it. I can but hope that sets you enough at ease that you may not pester me overlong upon the matter. Do not injure me with regards to the truth I must tell. It will out; better that he hear from me rather than any other. I will explain it well and leave him in no doubt as to his choices. That is what I can promise you.” One could but hope Jon proved tractable. Her past experience gave her hope.

The echo of a distant memory offered momentary distraction and a crumb of solace to shield her against the ache in her chest. She did not proceed blindly, with the best of hopes at heart. She knew she must cut away the most natural ambitions in her son. A woman had to wonder to what extent her powers might sustain her. She was to find out only too soon. “Enough of this then; you’ve matters to attend to, I daresay, and I even more so. Pray, let us be on our way.” And with that she ushered her brother without the chamber, shutting the door in their wake.


	2. Chapter 2

_“When the whole world is running towards a cliff, he who is running in the opposite direction appears to have lost his mind.”_

\- C.S. Lewis

“It’s colder than a whore’s heart out here.” Jem’s complaint, rasped out in rough voice, reverberated through the small camp. His brother gave a grunt of agreement, holding his hands out, closer to the roaring fire. “Craster’s shithole would have been better than this.”

Rhaegar silently agreed, though he had little taste for the man himself. His hall, as it were, a mere collection of sticks and pelts, would have provided adequate enough protection from the damned cold. Yet the less they saw of the man, the better for them all. Richard and Myles he trusted well enough not to abuse the women about the keep. His other men, however, were quite a different tale. One could pester them for nigh on a hundred years to leave the women to themselves, but it took one mere moment of looking away to find them with a hand up a skirt. Their number being greater and their weapons plentiful, such actions were often overlooked. But unless carefully herded the men could certainly add to their suffering and Rhaegar rather though the creatures wretched enough as matters stood.

The men continued their hushed conversations as he stood. Richard threw him a questioning look to which he merely shook his head. Turning his back on the lot of them he walked to the line of trees, cursing the winter snows and the oppressive darkness closing in from all sides even within as small a distance from the fires as he had walked. Still muttering under his breath, he tugged his gloves off. From there on it was smooth sailing more or less, with only a small amount of trepidation. There was always a chance, he expected, a man might end up with his cock in hand permanently given the damnable weather. Thankfully for a change, it turned out the gods hadn’t intended for him such a fate.

He returned to the camp’s fire all in order, only half concerned at the howl of wolves ringing out in the distance. They would not approach an open fire unless truly desperate. But then these lands crawled with Wildlings. Any one of those would make an adequate meal. 

They passed the night keeping watch and drinking steadily through skins of bitter wine. No matter, the quality of the wine did not matter. What mattered was that it kept them from freezing. That was all one could ask for without the protection of the Wall. He could have asked for better fare, he supposed, and the Lord Commander would have gladly offered it if he thought it opportune. But then what was the point; wine, particularly of the sort one might consider worthy, was not like to ease the true burden of the situation.

He woke sometime before sunrise to the sight of Myles poking at a modest fire. Most of the wood they’d managed to find had long since burned away. A soft greeting was exchanged as he climbed to his feet, shaking his cloak free of excess snow. The remainder of the camp followed along in due time until all mean were on their feet, the group splitting apart.

“Report to the Lord Commander on the situation of the villages to the west, but do not alarm him unduly over the matter of travelling Wildlings.” He said to Richard, giving Myles a hard stare, as though to warn him against such behaviour.

“But they are gathering; they would not have abandoned their homes otherwise. Just because we’ve yet to find the bulk of the army–“ He stopped short as soon as Rhaegar held his hand up, crossing his arms over his chest. “How can I in good conscience ignore such suspicions?”

“Easily. You lack the concrete proof.” The brothers of the Watch could withstand any pithy attack the marauding Wildlings managed to mount. Mance’s lot, on the other hand, armed with dull blades and crude arrows, would incur quite heavy losses should the Lord Commander take it into his head to pursue the so called army. He had no taste for bloodshed, especially not the blood of women and children that was sure to be spilled. Rhaegar dismissed those notions from his head. He only had to see to the villages to the east and then he might return to Caste Black.

Idly he wondered if Rhaenys’ headcold had improved any, if her cough had lessened and if she’d managed to catch sight of Balerion’s little kittens after all. That devil in cat-skin was a fierce little bugger with claws as vicious as a lion’s. Why Rhaenys loved the beast so well was beyond him, but loved him she did and had ever since she’d been a girl sneaking her way into his chamber even after her septa had forbidden her with pleas for tales, Balerion in tow. More than once he’d wished to boot the feline without his bedchamber, except that he would curls into his daughter’s lap after having shredded some tapestry or curtain and he hadn’t the heart to chase her pet away; not when she so sweetly asked for pardon afterwards.

No matter, doubtlessly a letter would await him and he could read it at leisure once he returned. He blessed Rhaenys’ strict septa who had thought it quite imperative that he be made aware of his daughter and son’s progress then insisted that Rhaenys herself write when she grew old enough to know her letters. It was not much for contact, but it was better than naught.

Shaking his head to clear away all notions of like bent, he reminded himself that there were still matters to attend to. He saw to the small departure of the party waiting until they were out of sight to turn to his remaining men. There were four of them, enough that they might take measure of the settlements ahead and make for the Wall with haste should they keep from dwelling overlong or antagonising anyone. Would that they did not encounter any trouble. A man could always hope.

The first of the pitiful collection of houses was quite the shocking sight. It wasn’t the sight of bleached bones beneath the weirwood tree, or the half-charred corpse of what looked to be a young child; those were familiar enough a custom that he no longer wondered as to why anyone would sacrifice their future in such a manner, especially when said future likely had wept and screamed through the whole ordeal. It was not even felled, rotting beasts scattered about. It was the lack of any living soul.

It was true that these people had been abandoning their homes and such, but to the west the homes did not yet have fresh straw laid out, or half skinned hares lying about, nor had he yet seen pots of half-cooked stew in any manner of abundance. Wildlings were hardy folk, he would grant them that; they would not simply take off with nary a care for their possessions. At the very least they would take what could be used, such as pelts and cloaks.

He made his way through a few of the homes until he came across a small hovel, half-buried in the ground, its floors covered in rags. A mound of furs stood in the corner, near it a piece of wood, half-whittled into a crude shape; some manner of beast by the looks of it. A dog or might be a horse; Rhaegar couldn’t decide. He neared and picked it up, holding it close so he may better study the craftsmanship, little of it there was.

Throwing the carved wood back down, he abandoned the insides of the hut, relieved once he was in the weak sunlight without. Jem was waiting by the tree with the bones beneath, looking at the offerings. “Anything of note?” Rhaegar questioned, drawing closer to the man.

“Them bones spell out a curse.” He raise done eyebrow at that. The old tongue was lost of them. Those who spoke it write it but rarely, either for lack of knowledge of any letters or because animal hide always seemed to have other uses. There were a few pieces he had seen in the old catacombs underneath Castle Black, housing a vast library, which even Aemon claimed to be of that sort. But no one had deciphered them, and he was not quite certain anyone would. Those runes had differed from the ones carved in the bones though. Not even a half-familiar sign could he see among the ones on the ground.

An oddity, to be sure. “How do you figure?" Jem kicked at the bones and spat upon the ashes beneath. “Have you any knowledge of runes?”

“Runes?” The young man scowled. “Don’t know nothing about no runes.” He pointed to a couple of smoothed out bones with rounded patterns. “Those are them eyes of the old gods. Witchery meant to travel with a man and watch him. He then tuned to a collection of teeth, “as for these, they were taken from this lad ‘ere.” His head jerked towards the corpse. “I reckon they was bindings his soul to send on a hunt.”

“Should you have kicked the poor boy’s soul?” How did Jem even know the corpse was a boy? “If indeed ‘tis not a most unfortunate lass.” The other snorted, the look on his face indicating a great deal of contempt. “Speak freely.”

“Ain’t gonna feed ‘em lasses to flamer or slit their throat. Leastwise not until they breed and raise their damned brats. I reckon the women like that well enough, though.” He wondered whether the boy’s mother had liked it any, but felt it better not to bring up the topic. “Cursed buggers the lot of ‘em. Bloodthirsty bitches too.”

An interesting assessment,” he offered. “You seem to know quite a lot about these rituals. Is there any particular reason for it?” Any scholarly explanation was forfeit and yet the gleam he saw in the man’s eyes just then took him aback. He’d not expected the wave of rage he saw there.

“Where a tyke when I seen it happen to my brother. They took my brother to one tree just like this. I was too old to serve for their purpose, but he were just the right age; soft and weak as the babe he was.” Lips curling in a sneer, the young man glanced away, as though overwhelmed. Rhaegar gave him a moment before encouraging him to continue. “Tried to save him, I did. But there were men there, stronger than me. A couple of ‘em held me down and I got to watch as they pulled out tooth after tooth. He end up with a mouthful of blood even before they slit his throat; poor thing were so scared he started puking his guts out. Ever heard a babe choke? Don’t think I ever heard anything half as pitiful.”

There was nothing he could say to that; indeed, naught he even wanted to say to that. “And your parents did not think to stop it?”

A bitter sort of chuckle prevailed in the ensuing silence before Jem spoke once more. “My stupid whore of a mother would have slit Twig’s throat herself if she’d been asked. As for her man, he weren’t bad or nothing, but I reckon he wouldn’t’ve cared much were he around to see. Excepting might be he’d have insisted they cut the throat first and pull the teeth after.”

The brother of the Night’s Watch had taken in an orphan though, claiming to have no parents. “What did you do then, Jem?”

“They let me up after the blood was spilled. I went home, what else could I do? But I’d a plan. If the village wanted to serve the gods, I’d help the lot of ‘em. Waited until my mother fell asleep and then slit her throat open. I’d have let her burn, only that I weren’t sure the flames would kill her. Had to be sure. The rest of that shithole I burned down with a few good arrows and my father’s bow.”

Jem stared at him with a hard set of eyes; a silent dare to criticise him, he thought. Kinslaying was a grave sin, in the eyes of the old gods and the new. But then the Watch comprised of murderers, thieves and rapists. Very few of them had the justification Jem had. Rhaegar patted his shoulder in a sympathetic manner. He looked to the small corpse at his feet. “We cannot bury the body; earth’s frozen stiff and we don’t have the necessary equipment.” Swords would not do in any event and he hadn’t even the faintest intention to dull his blade for such a thing.

“The gods’ll claim him soon enough.” Jem shrugged. By then Olivar and Pike had returned as well, reporting that they’d seen not a soul.

“I don’t like the look of it,” Rhaegar said in the end. “It would be best to return now and send out more men. Wherever these people went, it looks like they left in a hurry and abandoned a lot of useful material which would have been of aid to any army. Come, let us hasten our return to the Lord Commander; it seems the equation had changed a bit.”

He would not consider himself a fanciful sort, Rhaegar mused. But what he knew of magic and its strange rituals was that the dabblers had best be certain they had it all right down to the letter. Summerhall had been an eloquent lesson. A lot of outcomes might have been called forth by what had taken place within the small boundaries of the settlement, not the least of which was their little curse turning against its casters. If that was the case, then they had best not linger overlong.

His men were in agreement, both with regards to leaving and an earlier return to the Lord Commander. And so it was that with a somewhat heavy heart, he left behind the child in his cold grave, hoping Jem’s words came true and the gods did claim him in some manner or another. After such a death, the last thing he deserved was to end up a feast for carrion. Although, if he were to think about it, that was the most likely fate awaiting the mite.

Thinking back on Jem’s take, he shuddered. He’d once felt a burning hatred towards his sire for a great many reasons. But his father, who must have been quite wrought when learning just what his son had been doing behind his back, had merely looked at him with deep shock and an abiding disappointment. He hadn’t even yelled or threatened him. He had fallen into his seat, haggard face making him look a thousand years older than he truly was, and then he had wept.

His father, one of the cruellest men to have walked the kingdoms, had sunk his face in his hands and cried like a babe in arms. Lord Varys, naturally, had taken the whole matter over then, asking soft questions of him, pulling details and half-truths. He wasn’t certain if his father had believed a word he said; he certainly would’ve believed none of it in his stead. But all the same, his sire had ordered him to take the black. His father had loved him enough to want him alive even when Rhaegar himself had made peace with the possibility of his little scheme seeing the man dead. It had been an uncomfortable sight. He wasn’t certain what it was about weeping men that made one’s insides roil.

It wasn’t pity. It was not even primarily remorse, albeit some distant part of him had been chagrined to have caused his own father such pain. It had simply been distasteful. As though looking at a chamber where all the furniture had been carefully placed and noting just one piece slightly out of order. The wrongness of it was maddening; the knowledge that such was not supposed to be. It was the same with the tears of men.

Not all monsters were created equal, his mind supplied in the end. His father was, undoubtedly, barely fit for the title of human being, let along ruler of the realm. But for a woman to sacrifice her child as callously as Jem’s mother had; that was something else. His spine tingled with disquiet the more he considered it. Life beyond the Wall was hard. He’d seen enough of it to know as much. But most mothers held their babes close with loving, if not merely responsible, arms; they nursed them and guided them and made certain to protect them as best they could. He had seen enough women throwing themselves over their brats, snarling and spitting out curses, threatening bloody murder should anyone try to harm a hair on their head, to know where the true problem lay.

He would have certainly been more than prepared to drive his blade through any man or woman who threatened Rhaenys or Aegon; if he did not devise some other more painful method to dispose of such a person. He was his father’s son, after all, and did not lack in the department of inspiration. The admission was not quite as painful as he thought it would be. Rhaegar glanced up at the skies. It did not look as though the weather would turn sour. If they hurried they might even enjoy a journey absent heavy snowfall and frostbitten extremities. Drawing his cloak tighter about him, he called out to Olivar, “Have we need to hunt or is there enough to eat?”

“We could do with a bit more,” the man answered. “But we could always eat less for a little while. We’ll get out fill later in any event.” He looked to Pike and Jem for their opinion.

“Best we march on; too dear to waste time on that.” They had wine. Drink was more important in such instances. It would keep.

“Onwards then,” Rhaegar said.


	3. Chapter 3

_“The demon of our heart is called: ‘What’s the use’?’”_

— Georges Bernanos

The crisp air whipped its icy lash against the exposed skin of her cheeks. Lyanna maintained her seat with some difficulty, patting the thickening cords of muscle in her mare’s neck. “There, now, I shall take you on a short ride.” Only ill could come of too much idling. She glanced over her shoulder to the shaded insides of the stables, twisting in her saddle. The horse beneath her danced on light legs. “Patience. You will be given your head soon enough.” The promise did little, but she could already see Jon emerging from within, slightly bent as he spoke to Edwyle. The cousins parted once they sighted her, Brandon’s firstborn giving a small wave and a smile before taking himself off upon his own path.

“Well then, shall we be on our way?” Why did she not like the expression on his face; Lyanna straightened , gripping tightly with her knees to keep the beast underneath her still. Her eyes remained on her son’s face, however, for a long drawn moment. Jon seemed not at all bothered by the scrutiny and watched her back with daring, the darkness of his eyes sparkling like water touched by sun. She was losing her touch. A frown followed the realisation.

“Do let us,” Lyanna invited, pressing her heels into firm flanks. The mare was off with a neigh, vapour and mist trailing in their wake. She pushed hard, knowing Jon would keep up without difficulty. She had taught him to sit a horse, after all, almost as soon as he could put one foot before the other. She ought to know his skill at least, if not his preference. Though even there the two of them were of a mind. There was nothing quite like a hard ride to buoy the soul.

Cutting wind set itself against the pair of them to no success. They made for the forested area where one might walk for a spell without their thoughts being interrupted by servants running to and fro, or by meddling kinsmem or the ill-intentioned ones. She might have called her sire as well, but then that would have delayed her plans and she didn’t suppose her son would take kindly to it. Not on his nameday, not when he finally stood to learn all that she had hidden from him,

Jon overtook her, his steed’s gallop strong and sure. He led then for a time, allowing for a clear view of the back of him. Lyanna blinked as anaemic sunlight measured the width of his shoulders, its glimmer a line of silver-gold against the dark cloak and wondered to realise his back was much broader that day. He stood somehow greater than he ever had. Whatever had her lord father told the boy? She would ask of it after, Lyanna decided, following at the boy’s heels. Let him have his moment in the sun; what followed would doubtless prove a sore trial to his tender heart, for that she couldn’t believe to have changed in so short a time.

At length, they dismounted, feet sinking into a soft layer of frost-bound snow. Heavy boughs closed the forest in around them, blocking out much of the faint light dominating the heavens. But neither of them was daunted. The horses breathed heavily, might be glad for the moment that their master had chosen to walk. There was a silence fallen between them, with Jon frowning from his great height down at her and herself peering at him in a serious manner. Tension gathered with the fallen quiet. He might well have outgrown her, but he could not yet outwait her, which her son dutifully proved by putting an end to the moment. “For goodness’ sake, lady mother, I was made a promise.”

“So you were,” she agreed, passing the horse’s reins from one hand to the other, before turning to the south and stepping on. “It is a short tale, truly, for what I can say is not like to please you. But you have asked about your sire and I said I would tell you. Well, hear me then, and learn.” He fell in step with her. “Your father I knew of for a long time; he was making a name for himself even as I was a child, and his greatness did not fail to shine, carrying praise of him throughout the kingdoms. I, naturally, had no plans regarding him; it was too much of a risk, though, having seen him once, I knew well why the fascination of women with him endured. Still and all, his power was too great for me; I’d meant to snare a man who could never meddle with my affairs.” Confusion bloomed upon Jon’s brow. “Oh, indeed; I have not given you the reason yet for such exploits. As a girl I oft wondered with my father to the Wall and I’d spent a great deal of time with its maester but perhaps more time in the lower libraries. I shan’t share with you what I found there, suffice to say you will find out for yourself soon enough.” She smiled gently at the frown he offered. “Back to the matter of your sire; it was at Harrenhal we came together. You see, I’d learned something which firmly set my attention upon him. He meant to do a very daring thing, so I promised him my own sire’s aid in his scheme, knowing full well such would not come, and then, at lengths revealed my admiration for him. I promised him further aid in his scheme by offering to bear him the third child he so desperately wanted, for it went ill with his own wife. She was very frail and was caused great discomfort on account of it.”

“Wait. Stop.” Jon let go of his beast’s reins and grabbed both of her shoulders. “At Harrenhal, with a pregnant wife and schemes of his own; are you saying my father is the banished prince? He seemed awfully calm. Lyanna counted that his sire’s blood. She answered with a nod. “My father is a traitor,” her son whispered. The hands fell away from her shoulders. “How could you?”

“You needn’t acknowledge the connection. I have already told you, you shall be a Stark soon enough.” Fire blazed in Jon’s eyes and he drew air long before speaking. To her chagrin, his concern seemed to be of an entirely different nature.

“Damn the connection? You said yourself you had no intention of aiding a man but set out to use him for your own means. How could you? For I seem to recall it being said he was fond of you; is he to be so easily cast aside for whatever plans you have made?” He did not yell the words, though his voice was one of quiet fury. It chilled her blood and made her proud all at once. “Is it because of you that his plot was discovered?”

“Nay indeed, that was the work of his own haste. If he had waited, he might have succeeded.” She mused a space. “Or not; Rhaegar was ever a dreamer with great plans and ambition to match, but too in the way of practical sense. He had some lovely ideals, nonetheless.”

Jon swayed on his feet and for a moment Lyanna thought he might fall with the way his face went bone-white. But he only made his way to a snowy mound and sat, as though he’d found his throne. Then, he did a most surprising thing. Her son covered his face with his hands and gave a great, shuddering grasp. “I thought he was dead.” He looked up. “All my life, I thought my sire was gone, buried in some unnamed grave. And now I find he is well and alive. Not only that, he is a stone’s throw away, always has been. All this time, I might’ve had a father of my own.” He watched her expectantly.

“I never told him; I was to write him as soon as I learned if a babe has been sired, but I never did and the distance was too great and his concerns too numerous that he might turn his attention to the matter. The Dornish Princess gave birth to his heir soon after Whent’s tourney. As before, her health suffered greatly and he turned all his efforts to bettering her situation. Perhaps that is what caused his failure; nevertheless, his wife recovered. These days she lives in her native Dorne.”

“Did she know about it? About you and my father?” She walked closer to him, allowing her own mare to wander. Kneeling before his seated form, Lyanna placed her hands upon him to steady herself. He allowed it. 

“I believe so. She laughed at crown of flowers upon my brow and told me, good-naturedly, that we must take out victories as we can. In her eyes, she was, of course, the victor, for she would have a crown and her children would rule one day. And so they shall; whatever their father has come to. That must be a great comfort to her. May she enjoy it.” Lyanna begrudged her not, except for the bonds of marriage.

“How good for her. It seems to me you have all been well pleased; with the exception of the prince, I expect,” he paused there, looking at a point above her, “and myself. And perhaps his own children, those of whom he’s aware.” 

“I am sorry to have caused you pain. But it was inevitable.” He started and climbed to his feet, forcing her back. Slower than him, Lyanna rose with some difficulty. “I did not bereave you gladly.”

“Nay, just willingly,” he answered with steel. “Has it ever occurred to you that I may have wanted a father? That perhaps, like any other child, I’d have taken him on any terms; even as a turncloak brother of the Watch? You deprived me of that because it was convenient. How is that not monstrous?”

“Jon, you must unders–“ She was cut off before she could say anything more.

“Oh, must I? Why? Because you will it? Just as you willed to be mistress of my fate?” The question hung heavy between them. She made no answer. “Well, I shan’t. If you may do as you will with impunity, then as your son, surely, I am entitled to do likewise. Therefore, let us have right understanding between us, lady mother, it is despicable, beyond anything, to use another as callously as you have used the prince. But more than that, to place yourself as the arbiter of what is right or wrong based solely on convenience to the point where you would part child from parent is unforgivable.” All the while he spoke with harsh, low tones, as though getting the words out was a struggle. His eyes were flooded then with tears and his expression turned pained in truth. “Anything else I would have understood; passion, pity, even youthful folly. But this,” he trailed off and swallowed thickly. “I do not accept this.”

Fleet-footed, he turned around and made for his horse, swinging in the saddle and taking off without another word. Lyanna did not attempt to stop him. She had known it would shake him, but her hope had been he would not our so much stock by it. And if he had not, would she have been pleased? If h had asked her of thrones and such, would that have made her easier?

It would have, for she’d have placed herself as his moral superior then and told him of things he could not have. But lo, the rug had been pulled from underneath her feet. Jon had cared but for his sire. The realisation was slow in occurring. But once it had, for a first Lyanna was flooded with shame. She shuddered and turned to look for her own horse. Might be her father would have a few words with the boy when he saw just how distraught Jon was. 

* * *

“This is no laughing matter,” Lyanna muttered, the unspooled thread of her patience frayed to snapping. She glared at her younger brother and the smug expression he wore so well. But Benjen, far from being cowed, did not back down. Instead, he moved another piece upon the board. She wished he were yet young enough that a slap to the back of the head might work him into better behaviour.

“I am not laughing, am I?” he said at long last. “But allow a man some expression of pleasure when his luck has finally turned around. I do believe this game is mine.” Alas, she was tightly bound and could not disprove him. “Rather unlike you, if you ask me. Normally, you’d prefer chewing your own foot off to letting me win. Or could it be that you are distracted?”

“You know very well what the matter is.” The cold reply had only the effect of calling Benjen to lean in. He studied the last line of defence on her side as she contemplated what she was going to sacrifice next in a bid to stall for time. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Just take it as you’ve won and let me be off.”

“So you can sulk and talk yourself into believing you made the right choice?” He mocked. “I think not. You got precisely what you deserved and must now live with the consequences of your own actions.” In contrast to his words, he reached out and took her hand. “Take comfort in the knowledge that your son is far superior in merit to both yourself and his sire, if you will; for having seen his reaction, I doubt he will ever stoop to using others in a game of power as the both of his parents have done.” Lyanna detected no malice there, but nevertheless withdrew her hand. Benjen left her be. “It is your move now, I believe.”

She randomly pushed forth one of the pieces. Benjen wasted no time in capturing it Yet his thoughtful look prompted her into speech. “Why do you look like that now? Have you more criticism to levy my way?”

“My criticism can only hurt if you believe you have done wrong and then you will do the tormenting on your own.” He tapped the table gently with his forefinger. “Ever eager to sacrifice the dragons, aren’t you?” She glared at the piece and found that indeed, it had been her dragon. Teeth clenched in response. “What a fierce look you have; but that is your problem, you know.” He allowed her another move and then proceeded to capture another piece of his own, though he might have ended the whole thing then and there.

“Why do you insist upon drawing this out?” Lyanna questioned, half wanting to throw the board to the ground like a petulant child. Not that it would avail her much of a victory with Benjen. He was immune to bouts of rage; only coldness hurt him and she hadn’t the heart for that in the moment.

“It pleases me.” Three words; they said so little and yet so much. But Benjen would never leave her in a lurch; she did not have to wonder at his meaning, as he was quick to set her upon the right path. “And it is not as though you have some better company to entertain. Face it; Jon will come out when he is good and ready, and even the n you may well not be on his list of priorities.” His smile flashed brief cruelty before it melted into its less caustic counterpart. She felt the blood heat in her veins. “Oh me, have I angered you then? Good, perhaps this way you’ll give better sport.”

Unable to take it for a second longer, she jumped to her feet, ongoing game be damned. “You understand naught at all, so do not presume to lecture me.” It was, in hindsight, not the best reaction she might have displayed. “Whether my son chooses to believe what I did I did for the best reason now or later is likewise no affair of yours.” 

“Somehow, I do not think that is his debate,” her brother returned. “It seemed to me he thought you made the poorest choice possible; but then what do I know, as you say.” He stood as well and walked around the table, drawing nearer and nearer. It took only a slight push to get her back in her seat. From there, Benjen used the same strategy as previously. “In your grand scheme, as you pushed your pieces this way and that, you forgot a small detail. Most unimportant, many would say, but one that, nevertheless, seems to have toppled your tower of intentions.” Condescendingly, he patted her arm from that great height. “If I were Jon, I would make for the Wall and come clean to the other victim of your manoeuvring. I wonder if he will ride for the Wall.”

Her eyes flashes with fury, but she refused to feed into the conversation. Benjen went on, undisturbed by her silence. “I would in his stead. It is less danger now that his sire is a brother of the Watch and the man’s firstborn is well loved by all.” Pulling back, Benjen shook his head. “I will say this of you. You did well to encourage what goodness there is in that boy. And now it is time to step aside.”

Lyanna bit her tongue. She struggled to keep silent. But her temper was roused finally beyond stopping. “He is my son.”

“As much yours as he is his father’s. Mend what fences you can and other hurts leave to the healing hands of time, but do not expect that boy will ever look the same way to you again. You have betrayed not his expectations, for that Jon would have forgiven, I think, but the very values you would have him cherish.” She looked away. “I say this for your sake as much as his and if the years have grown any wisdom in you, you will mind it.” 


End file.
